Always So Certain
by kaydee falls
Summary: Pre-RENT. Maureen decided that Roger needs a girlfriend. But she didn't know what she was getting them all into....
1. The Whole Problem...

Always So Certain1

DISCLAIMER: hey, guess what? they aren't mine! isn't that a riot?!  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is written in response to a challenge to write a Rentfic that features Miaka's definition of an unconventional couple. Hey, Miaka, lookee, I've got two! And it's pre-Rent, too! And yes, it crosses over with another one of my fics, but it's its own story. Really it is. Please respect it as such. Onwards....  
  
Always So Certain  
by kaydee falls  
  
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The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are **always so certain** of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts. -- Bertrand Russell  
  
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PART 1: THE WHOLE PROBLEM...  
  
Roger, I decided, needed a girlfriend.  
  
I came to this conclusion after spending a whole freaking hour listening to him pick out mournful love songs on his favorite fender guitar. The walls in our loft are not exactly soundproof. The fact that I was in my bedroom with the door closed had no effect on the twangy, pervasive quality of Roger's music.' If you could call it such. It sounded more like a disjointed medley of every lonely ballad ever written. Most of which were simply not meant to be played on that guitar.  
  
When he started his own, special rendition of Musetta's Waltz, I knew it had gone too far.  
  
My roommate does not exactly have a cheerful nature, but lately his gloom of self-pitying loneliness has deepened. It's starting to affect the rest of us in the loft. And the quietly self-suffering expression on his face is getting on my nerves. Besides, tonight's musical aspirations weren't exactly helping me forget the fight I had with Mark this morning. For once it was _me_ waiting for _him_ to come home instead of vice-versa, and I needed to be in the right mood to coax him into accepting my apology.  
  
Roger's guitar was _not_ helping me get into that mood.  
  
Fortunately, he gave up after a few more depressing tries at Puccini, and went to the bedroom he, Collins, and Benny share, slamming the door shut. Mark and Benny got home about half an hour later, and I worked my usual girlfriend magic on Mark's wounded pride from the morning. We both went to bed happy, any indications of distemper or grudges gone.  
  
See how much having me improves Mark? Roger definitely needed a girlfriend before his funk got worse.  
  
_Getting_ him a girlfriend was another matter entirely.  
  
I tried the casual approach first. Hey, Roger, I said to him one afternoon, as he was inhaling a bowl of noodle soup. Me, Marky, and Collins are going out clubbing tonight. You coming?  
  
He didn't take his eyes off the rapidly vanishing soup. Don't feel like it, he mumbled, and swallowed. You guys go.  
  
Oh, come on, I wheedled. It'll be fun. Clubs are great places to meet girls, ya know. I raised an eyebrow suggestively.  
  
He glanced up at me, warily. Are they now, he commented flatly.  
  
I perched on the table, leaning toward him slightly. You know you want to, I teased.  
  
Maureen, I never knew you to be the best judge of what I want.  
  
I switched tactics. How long has it been since you and Andrea split? I asked. Five months?  
  
Roger glared at me steadily. He looked like he was debating whether or not to dump his remaining soup on my head. I leaned back, sighing. Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he decided against wasting his food on me. Yeah, something like that, he said, and polished off the soup.  
  
You need a new girlfriend, I informed him, bluntly. Guys are dense. Sometimes, you have to spell it out for them.  
  
Thanks for the advice, Maureen, he said shortly. Have fun at your club. He stalked out of the loft, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Well, at least I got him out of the house.  
  
Over the next two weeks, I did a pretty good job of driving Roger crazy. It got to the point that he actually did come out with us, just so I would stop bugging him.  
  
Mark told me cautiously. No offense, but I don't think that Roger particularly appreciates your efforts here.  
  
I know, I replied cheerfully. But he will, when he meets the girl of his dreams.  
  
Mark pushed his glasses up on his nose. I love his glasses. They make him look so adorable. Why, may I ask, are you so concerned with Roger's girlfriend status?  
  
Why shouldn't I be? I teased playfully. A tall, handsome stud like that one shouldn't be alone nights. I really, really wanted to tousle his hair at that point. He looked like an affronted puppy dog.  
  
Oh, really? He folded his arms.  
  
I laughed. Silly Marky, you get jealous so easily!  
  
Well, sometimes you give me reason!  
  
I pouted slightly. Pookie, what have I possibly said to make you jealous? I stepped close to him, and began playing with the collar of his shirt. He tried to remain aloof, but it wasn't working. Honestly, Mark, if you had reason to be jealous of Roger, then why would I be trying to find him a girlfriend?  
  
He sighed and gave in, putting his arms around me. Good point, he admitted. I'd still like to know why, though.  
  
Nobody likes a mopey roommate, I replied. A girl will do him good. Admit it, you don't like it when he's this sullen, either.  
  
True. Very true. Now, shouldn't we be dragging our dear friend along to that new bar on Avenue B?  
  
Delighted, I kissed him. He responded in kind. One thing kinda led to another and, well, it was a good twenty minutes later before we were ready to set out for the bar.  
  
I was in high spirits as the three of us walked dwn the street. Laughing and cuddling with my boyfriend, I hardly noticed Roger's typical scowl. It was a great evening -- not too hot, for July, with no clouds in sight. The night energized me. I was almost regretful when we got to the bar and had to go inside.  
  
I'm thirsty, I told Mark. I'm gonna go get a drink. You want anything?  
  
He shook his head. He had already gotten his small, handheld video camera out. He turned the lens to me for a moment, grinning. I struck a pose, then stuck my tongue out. That's my Marky. Anywhere we go holds the possibility of inspiration for the next screenplay. He's always filming.  
  
Roger stuck to Mark, looking bored already. Remembering my mission, I scanned the bar for his potential girlfriend.  
  
Sitting alone at a barstool was a girl, probably in her late teens or early twenties, like us. She was clearly acquainted with a loud, wilder group seated at a table a few feet away -- every now and then they would shout something at her, and she'd respond -- but for some reason she chose to stay solo. Probably lonely. Perfect.  
  
I plopped down at the bar stool next to hers. I said.  
  
She glanced at me, briefly. she replied noncommittally, then turned back to her drink.  
  
I'm Maureen, I pushed. Most people find that it's very difficult to ignore me, when I want to talk to them.  
  
she identified herself, glancing at me again.  
  
I studied her for a few moments. She was reasonably pretty. Bronze skin, almost Spanish looking, with wildly curly dark hair. Nice brown eyes. Decent figure. I didn't know Roger's type exactly, but I did know Andrea, and this one was much better looking. I realized that she was a little uncomfortable with my scrutiny, so I broke the silence. You look lonely, I said.  
  
She laughed, a little. Sorry, Maureen, but I don't swing that way.  
  
A comedienne. Yeah, Roger should like her. I shrugged off the comment. Don't worry, my boyfriend's in the corner over there. I indicated Mark. She looked over at him, and by the calculating look in her eyes I could see that she was weighing him up and finding him favorable. Don't even think about it. Marky's mine, I warned her lightly, establishing my possession of him.  
  
She acknowledged this with an inclination of her head, and turned back to me. So, what, your statement earlier was supposed to be a point of conversation? she challenged me, a little irritated by my continued presence. Look, my chatty friend, whatever you may think, I'm actually in a reasonably good mood right now. I'm not lonely. At all.  
  
I raised an eyebrow. Suuuuuure you're not, I thought. I could have bickered with her, but I decided to be reasonable. After all, I was trying to get Roger a girlfriend, right? And at least April showed spirit. I said, you're sitting alone at a bar, even though a crowd of your friends are grooving over there. I indicated the raucous bunch nearby, then moved in for the kill. And here I've got one of my roomies single and bored-- I cut myself off suddenly, as I noticed that Roger was slipping towards the door. --And trying to sneak outside! I exclaimed.  
  
Mentally apologizing to April for my rudeness, I broke a few speed records in getting from my stool to my roommate. The look on his face was that of a guilty child caught in the act. Repressing the urge to either laugh or smack him for his lack of appreciation, I chose instead to drag him forcibly over to the girl. It wasn't easy. Oh, the things I go through due to my altruistic nature. April glanced between me and Roger, smirking slightly. Her look told me that she knew very well she was being set up, and after looking my roommate up and down, she flashed me a look of cool appreciation. I smiled determinedly. April, meet Roger.  
  
Giving him one last shove, I turned and strode over to my boyfriend. Mark had been filming the entire procedure.  
  
he commented, keeping his lens trained on the awkward duo. Why her, in particular?  
  
Why not? I responded affably. If they get on, good. If not, there are plenty of other bars.  
  
That there are, he murmured. Turning the camera off, he replaced the lens cap with a flourish. His eyes twinkled at me from behind his lovable glasses. She's quite a looker. I slapped him lightly on the arm, and he chuckled. So I thought you were thirsty. So where's your drink?  
  
I smacked myself on the forehead. Damn! I completely forgot to get anything!  
  
He laughed quietly, and took my hand. C'mon, let's get some cheap alcohol.  
  
I glanced over at the bar. April and Roger were still talking -- sort of. Her crowd was getting steadily louder as the drinks kept coming, and the potential pair weren't exactly being left alone.  
  
I dunno, I told him. It's getting a bit noisy in here.  
  
He looked around, and shrugged. No worse than our crowd gets at the Life Cafe.  
  
A smile tugged at my mouth. That's right. We don't go there nearly often enough. Casting another look at the bar, I noticed the absence of two certain people. Now where did--  
  
Mark replied. Turning to the door, I indeed saw the backs of April and Roger as they slipped away. Mark met my eyes. I am duly impressed. You seem to have found his match. A shadow flickered across his face. I hope they don't do anything stupid.  
  
I laughed. Roger's a big boy, Pookie. You don't need to mother him.  
  
He rolled his eyes. I know. It's just that lately--  
  
He's been acting weird lately, I know, I cut in. That's why he needed a girlfriend. To straighten him out a little. I indicated the door. Her name's April, by the way.  
  
Mark sighed. Yeah. That's probably what he needs. Someone to care about. I guess best friends don't always cut it.  
  
Of course they don't! I said, a little impatiently. I don't like it when Mark gets moody. That's what girlfriends are for, Marky. Like me. Remember me? I pouted a little. His eyes caught mine, and he smiled, pulling me towards him. We kissed for a while, then I pulled away, satisfied. Take me dancing, Pookie, I murmured in his ear. They won't be coming back here.  
  
He complied, like I knew he would. My Marky doesn't really like clubbing. It's not really his style. But he goes along, anyway, keeping an eye on me. Poor jealous boy.  
  
Mark got tired of the club a little before midnight, and, for once, I didn't argue. I was too wrapped up in my apparent success of the day. When we got home, we found Collins and Benny playing cards in the kitchen. Roger hadn't come home yet.  
  
I smiled to myself. Score one for Maureen. Guess he'll appreciate my efforts now!  
  
END OF PART 1  
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	2. ...Fools and Fanatics...

Always So Certain2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this part gets a tad angstier. just telling you.  
  
PART 2: ...FOOLS AND FANATICS...  
  
I woke up relatively early the next morning. Say, a little before ten o'clock. Mark, who is marginally more of a morning person than I am, had already gotten out of bed. I could hear his voice faintly in the kitchen, occasionally joined by Roger's....  
  
Roger! Dammit, what was he doing here? I thought he was going to spend the night with that chick from the bar! That was the whole point, wasn't it?  
  
My body was up and functioning a few minutes before my brain. For several fruitless moments, I searched for the bar girl's name in my memory. Some kind of month, wasn't it? May? No, not May, she hadn't looked like a May....  
  
April. Right.  
  
Once my sluggish mind chose to make that information available to me, I was ready to confront Roger. Throwing on something resembling clothes, I burst out of the bedroom.  
  
Roger saw me coming before Mark even noticed the door slamming open. I made a mental note to myself about Mark's need of heightened awareness of his girlfriend. My other roommate opened a mouth to speak, but I cut him off.  
  
Roger, what the hell are you doing here?  
  
He blinked, mildly thrown off. Um, I do kinda live here, Maureen. Mark, who had finally decided to notice me, favored me by rolling his eyes. I'll get you later, buddy.  
  
That's not what I mean! You were s'posed to go home with that April chick!  
  
Roger smirked. I walked her home, yes. But damn, I don't generally go to bed with a date the first night I meet them!  
  
This threw _me_ off a little. Why the hell not? I asked.  
  
Marky glared at me. he warned.  
  
Roger's grin widened. It looked weird, at first -- until I realized how _long_ it had been since I'd seen Roger genuinely smile. I was going to say thank you, he interjected. I gaped. No, really. For once, you were right about someone. I think I really like this girl. Even if -- his grin reached Cheshire Cat proportions -- I didn't immediately jump into bed with her.  
  
I said, mollified. Realizing that my Pookie was still glaring at me, I hustled over to kiss him. Really, Mark, I scolded. Like you've never gone to bed on a first date.  
  
He twisted his mouth in something that might have resembled a smile. It would have to do, for now. I turned my attention back to Roger.  
  
So? When are you gonna see her again? I demanded.  
  
Roger rolled his eyes. Soon, all right? Christ, Maureen, it's really none of your business, you know.  
  
None of my business! Who set you two up, huh?  
  
You. I said thanks, didn't I? I shrugged, unwilling to give up yet. Roger can be such a clunkhead. If I let him, he would screw this one up, like he had with Andrea. He just doesn't know how to treat a girl. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. D'you think I should meet her after work today?  
  
I considered this for about half a second. Roger, since when do you go to work?  
  
He sighed. After _she_ gets off work, I meant. She works at that deli, a few blocks from here.  
  
There were maybe, oh, a thousand or so delis that fit the description of being a few blocks from here,' but I let it slide. Of course you should meet her! I exclaimed.  
  
It's just that she doesn't know I'm planning to... he muttered.  
  
Even better! Don't you know that girls love surprises like that? I checked myself. Well, usually, anyway. I could think of a few times when I had been less than pleased to find Mark waiting for me -- especially when it meant catching me, um, in the, uh, company of certain, ah, friends, doing certain -- oh, never mind. Besides, that was me. Not April. I plowed on ahead. You have to meet her today, and be extra sweet, and if you insist on coming home tonight -- bring her with you, dammit!  
  
Roger nodded gravely, but the corners of his mouth were twitching rebelliously. He excused himself from the kitchen hurriedly.  
  
I shook my head, exasperated. That boy just doesn't know what's good for him, I complained.  
  
Mark agreed. He looked like he was trying to pacify me. I briefly contemplated smacking him, but realized it wouldn't do much good. he continued, somewhat cautiously, just how many guys have you slept with on a first date?  
  
Now I _really_ wanted to smack him. So much for any notions of pacifying. I sighed. Resigned, I began the tedious process of soothing my boyfriend's jealousy issues.  
  
Roger came home alone that night, but it wasn't worth the effort to yell at him. He was in high spirits, but acting a little looped out. Drunk and happy, I diagnosed mentally, repressing the urge to lecture him on girlfriends. Besides, I don't see Roger drunk too often. He gets kinda weird, acts like he's lightheaded or something. Since I assume he was in a good mood as he got himself this wasted, tonight's form of drunkenness was pretty funny. Irrepressibly good humored. Very un-Roger.  
  
He only spent a few minutes with the rest of us in the living room, and he wasn't talking much, mainly staring into space with a goofy smile on his face. This made me feel better about the lack of April's presence -- clearly, the boy was in love.  
  
Mark was sort of giving Roger the cold shoulder -- strange. He looked upset about something -- probably calculating how many drinks his best friend had had. Pointless. It's not like my Pookie abstains from alcohol, right? And anyway, Roger was too loopy to notice Marky's thinly veiled disgust.  
  
You know what's weird? Roger burst out suddenly, slurring his words slightly. April is friends with Greg. Isn't that funny? He giggled a little.  
  
Collins and Mark both suddenly jerked their heads to look at Roger. Behind his glasses, Mark's eyes took on the oh-crap look normally reserved for his discovery of my little infidelities. Collins seemed to be seeing Roger for the first time that night, widening slightly as the blond man's somewhat drunken state sunk in. Collins glanced over at Mark, and the two of them shared a Look.  
  
Benny glanced between the two of them, baffled at their odd reaction. He caught my eye, and I shrugged. I was mildly pissed at being left out of the loop, too. Who the hell was Greg?  
  
I stood, and took Roger's arm. C'mon, Roger, I said. Bedtime. You are gonna have a hell of a hangover in the morning. Benny got up and supported Roger's other arm, complacently.  
  
Mark and Collins shared another meaningful glance, irritating me further. I didn't see what all the fuss was about. So Roger had a little too much to drink. So what? Frankly, I think it's perfectly natural for a guy to get drunk with his girlfriend. Sheesh.  
  
Roger was lucky. He claimed not to have a hangover the next morning, although he looked a little pale. Nobody mentioned the incident at all. Damn -- so much for me finding out what was going on.  
  
The next night, Roger didn't come back to the loft. I privately rejoiced.  
  
Still, it was a whole month before April moved in with us. That was very interesting -- forming a makeshift wall/divider in the bigger bedroom, so that April and Roger could have their own room. Somehow it worked, between Benny's logical mind and Collins's knack for improvisation. The end result was highly satisfactory, for all parties.  
  
Well, for the most part. Collins and Mark obviously had their doubts about the new living arrangements. Not the bedroom fiasco, just the fact that April had joined us, period.  
  
I don't know if this is such a good idea, Mark muttered on evening, after she had been with us for about a week.  
  
I asked. Having her here? We've got room. And jesus, you should've seen the hellhole she was living in before.  
  
That they're still dating, I guess. I don't know. I mean, they seem happy, but she's -- I just don't know.  
  
What's wrong with her? I demanded. She's nice enough. Good sense of humor. Pretty. _And_ she's faithful to him, which can be hard to find. Someone that loyal. What's the problem?  
  
Mark shrugged, evasively. We barely _know _this girl. I mean, she could be -- never mind.  
  
No, I'm minding, I said. Don't you approve of her friends, or something? Oh yeah -- George or Greg or someone.  
  
Mark verified automatically, then winced. He hadn't wanted to discuss this. Too bad.  
  
Yeah, Greg. So who is he, and why don't we like him?  
  
My boyfriend fiddled with his glasses. He's kind of a neighborhood guy. A lot of people around here know him, you could say. He's -- he tends to be bad news.  
  
A good partier? I asked, contemplatively. I needed a little excitement.  
  
Mark said flatly. For a price. Abruptly, he changed the subject. You said April's faithful -- which can be hard to find.' Care to enlighten me? He wasn't glaring at me. Not really.  
  
Just in general -- you know, I hedged.  
  
He folded his arms. Okay, now he was kinda glaring.  
  
Oh, for chrissakes, Mark...!I spluttered.  
  
So what's up with you and April's _other_ friend? Chino? Is that his name?  
  
He was helping me move her out of her old apartment! I insisted, not quite blushing.  
  
Wow, talk about helpful! I mean, you two kept going back to pick up her things even when everything was already here!  
  
My temper flared. He was _not_ supposed to have noticed that. Well, excuse me for looking for a little excitement for one lousy evening!  
  
So, what, I'm boring?! Mark yelled.  
  
That's the sign I've gone too far. C'mon, Pookie, I cajoled.  
  
Don't pout at me like that! Dammit, Maureen, if you like thrills so much, why the hell don't you just leave me and be done with it?  
  
I snapped. I had a right to be angry at him, too, didn't I? Fine, I will! That's it, Mark Cohen! I stomped out of the loft, slamming the door so hard it shook.  
  
After about twenty minutes, I knew that he'd come back to me -- or I'd go back to him -- but I spent the rest of the night and the next morning with Chino, anyway. Just to teach that damn filmmaker a lesson. In the afternoon, I went back to the loft, claiming to be just picking up my stuff. Then I allowed Mark to me to stay with him, and settled back into the usual routine.  
  
It was a hell of a way to make me forget about Greg. But it worked.  
  
Mark and I started fighting more often after that. Not that we'd had the ideal relationship before, but it was definitely deteriorating now. I cheated every few weeks, or month, and didn't feel too bad about cheating. It wasn't the most pleasant of times.  
  
In contrast, Roger and April were happier and happier. After a while I gave up keeping tabs on them completely. Clearly, they were handling this just fine on their own. Besides, we rarely saw them any more -- they were out, or if they were home, they were in their bedroom. Just as well. Mark and Collins had kept up their unreasonable disliking of April. Benny and I remained moderately friendly, but I guess the happy couple decided it was safer for them to isolate themselves than deal with us.  
  
I couldn't really take the time to deal with Roger and April's little problems. I had enough issues of my own. Besides, I was starting to almost resent their continuous bliss, as my relationship continued fracturing.  
  
Things between Mark and I reached boiling point on what should have been a great night. Months had passed since April's arrival. It was early April, actually. Weird. Who would name their kid after a month? But I digress.  
  
Benny was dragging us all to some new club he'd discovered (except Collins, who had other plans). He kept chattering on about one of the dancers there. I was mildly suspicious -- he was already well into a relationship with some rich white girl whose name I could never remember. Met her once -- kinda snobbish. Whatever. So we were walking too quickly down the street. Mark and I were in a period of truce, and behaving almost like a proper couple. In other words, completely ignoring Benny's incessant talking.  
  
Hey, Benny, April called out. She and her boyfriend were lagging behind us. You wanna slow down a bit? This is ridiculous.  
  
Roger piped up. And I thought you were seeing that Alison chick, anyway. It took me a second to remember that Alison was the snob Benny was dating, and another second was lost contemplating Roger's reasoning in making this particular comment. Oh yeah, Benny had been talking about the dancer.  
  
Well, I am, Benny hedged. Maybe not totally exclusively yet. I raised my eyebrow at him -- not that he noticed. Besides, I'm not doing anything with this dancer, I don't even know her name. I just, uh, like watching her. Wow. An excuse almost worthy of me. I almost said that aloud, then remember who was holding my hand. My boyfriend. Right. Not a good time to mention excuses.  
  
Benny stopped walking abruptly. Mark and I practically ran over him. I shot my roommate a look. Couldn't he have warned us he was gonna stop, or something?  
  
What now? I demanded, vaguely annoyed.  
  
We're here, Benny replied excitedly, and stepped into the building, and we followed. I glanced around, not impressed. The Cat Scratch Club was _not_ my kind of choice for a night life. Too small, for one. Also, the employment of dancers left less space for the rest of us to enjoy ourselves, especially while waiting for these exotic dancers to emerge.  
  
April had already found something resembling a dance floor, and was dancing -- in her own, special way. I shook my head, and joined her. The girl needed a better teacher. I demonstrated how to dance properly -- by grabbing the nearest guy and pressing myself as close to him as possible. The lighting wasn't great, so I just prayed the boy I was clutching was decent looking, and kept right on dancing. Mark hates these kinds of places, I thought. Oh, well. His loss.  
  
Suddenly, I heard whistles and catcalls coming from another part of the club -- the part set aside for the hired dancers. Hey, guys! I heard Benny yelling, then couldn't hear whatever he might have said afterwards. The guy I was dancing with pulled away -- too bad. Now that I got a look at him, he was reasonably hot. Whatever. I followed the other girls in the club over to a small stage. Three scantily-dressed guys had emerged, and were dancing far more interestingly than my former dance partner. Better looking, too. I forgot about him immediately.  
  
I spared about five seconds to glance over to the other side of the club. The female dancers were just as good, and wearing about the same amount of clothing. I quickly figured out which one was Benny's favorite -- she had the best figure -- and thought bemusedly that she looked kinda like April. Except that April would probably never wear black leather and lace.  
  
Then my attention turned back to the trio of guys dancing so seductively in front of me. And for someone whose attention span is as short as mine, I watched them for a remarkably long time.  
  
Then I captured the notice of my favorite one for a little while.  
  
Needless to say, it was rather early the next morning before I got back to the loft. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite early enough.  
  
The others were all in bed. Mark was not. He was sitting on the sofa. Just sitting. Not reading, not dozing, not writing, not watching TV. Just -- sitting.  
  
He didn't move when I entered. He kept his back to me, rigidly. This didn't exactly put me at ease. I was already feeling kinda guilty about abandoning Mark, earlier. Normally, I don't completely forget about his existence. That night, I had. For some reason, I feel better about cheating on him deliberately then about cheating on him, oddly, by accident. I honestly didn't know what I had been thinking.  
  
Somehow, I didn't think these arguments would work in my favor.  
  
I'm sorry, I said, breaking the silence that hung between us. I...lost track of the time. He still didn't acknowledge me. It was a mistake. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I'm admitting I was wrong here. But I'm here. I came back. You knew I would come back.  
  
he said, still not turning around. I didn't.  
  
That hurt more than the silence. As if I would really leave him after a one-night stand! Infuriating as he could be, I loved him. Didn't I? I whispered, pleadingly.  
  
Don't call me he said harshly.  
  
I made my way around the couch, so that I was directly in front of him. He refused to meet my eyes. I wanted to cry -- or yell at him. I came back, I repeated, not knowing what else to say. Leaning in, I kissed him gently.  
  
He didn't respond at all, for a second. Then, gently but firmly, he placed his hands on my shoulders and shoved me away. I think you should leave now, he told me.  
  
I slapped him across the face.  
  
I instantly regretted this, but it was too late. Mark didn't do anything, just let it be, but my hasty action built a wall between us.  
  
Screw dignity. I was sobbing openly as I left. From the street, I glanced up at the large window of the loft, and watched as Mark's silhouette put his head in his hands and cried.  
  
I had to go back to the loft a few days later, to get my stuff. I still couldn't believe it was actually over. I wasn't ready for our relationship to end yet. And I knew that he wasn't, either. I guess that should've clued me in -- we weren't through yet.  
  
When I returned to the loft, Mark was alone there. I tried to stay aloof from him, and I began packing my things, but it was hard. I don't think he even realized that he kept shooting me mournful puppydog looks that, under any other circumstances, I would have found unbearably adorable. Today, each one was like the stab of a knife.  
  
He stayed out of my way, mostly. Then I tried to pick up a pile of clothes that was about large enough to qualify as a foothill of the Himalayas. His instincts won out, and he leaped up to help me. Taking the other side of The Mound, his hands cupped themselves under mine. We lowered The Mound into a large suitcase.  
  
He didn't let go of my hands.  
  
We stood for a very long moment. I stared at his large, familiar hands, folding over mine like they used to. Mark stared at my face.  
  
He suddenly realized that he was still holding my hands, and blushed brilliantly. But instead of letting go hastily, like I expected, he clutched them tighter. he said quietly, the first time he'd spoken a word to me since that disastrous night -- er, morning. Maureen, I'm so sorry.  
  
Hearing his voice completely undid me. I threw my arms around him and cried, choking out my own apologies. He stroked my hair gently, and maybe he even shed a tear or two, himself. When I stopped sniffling, I tilted my head up to his and kissed him.  
  
This time, he kissed me back.  
  
Eventually, we got around to unpacking my bags again. I can't say our relationship was perfect after that. Not even close. But at least we realized how much we still needed each other. I had started to realize that our breakup was inevitable. We just weren't ready for it yet. But it would come. And that in itself cast a dim pallor over our time together. I kept wondering how long it all would last.  
  
But then April and Roger suddenly stepped into the forefront of the loft soap opera.  
  
I hadn't been paying much attention to them at all for a while. I realized, after Mark and I almost broke up, but didn't, that there was something wrong with them. I wasn't quite sure what. April had been acting a little weird lately, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it.  
  
One boring afternoon, I sifted through a pile of photographs that had been sitting on my desk for months. I found a picture taken back in August. It was a great shot of April and Roger in Washington Square Park. Roger's arm was around her and they were grinning at the camera. I stared at the photo for a second, then searched frantically for the most recent one I had of them. It had been taken only a week or so previously. They were in the same park, more or less the same pose, but their grins seemed a little hazier, and their eyes weren't quite focused on the camera.  
  
I compared the two photos, side by side. Holy crap.  
  
Somehow, very gradually, over the past eight-odd months, April and Roger had become shadows. It was the only way to describe it. And it was very unsettling.  
  
Why hadn't I noticed?  
  
I showed the pictures to Mark that evening. I know, he said, almost harshly. She's slowly killing him.  
  
Or he's slowly killing her, I replied softly, but he ignored me.  
  
A couple of days later -- April 30th, I remember -- we were all hanging around the loft, except for April. Roger wasn't sure where she was, and Mark seemed to think she had a doctor's appointment of some sort. I didn't really think of it. We were in a good mood, thanks to Benny. His engagement to this Alison person seemed imminent, and he was regaling us with hypothetical futures, in which all our creative dreams were realized. It was a great picker-upper. Roger was even getting involved in the conversation, which temporarily dispelled my fears about him.  
  
The phone rang. We all dove for it. Mark got it first, and bowed. CyberArts Studio, how can I help you? he said cheerfully. We all laughed. Collins cheered.  
  
Mark listened to the person for a second, then mouthed April' to us. Hey, hold on, he said. I'll get Roger-- Roger reached for the phone, but Mark suddenly stopped, and shook his head at his friend. He listened for a moment, little worry lines starting to play across his forehead. April, what's wrong? he asked, in a concerned tone. I was mildly surprised. Ever since I had gotten home the previous evening, I realized that Mark was very suddenly becoming friendly with April. It was weird. It made no sense. It was a relief.   
  
Mark was silent for a moment. All right, he said finally, sounding a little doubtful. See you. He almost hung up, then caught himself as April said something more. He knows, Mark told her softly. Take care of yourself, April. Then he blinked, confused, and replaced the phone in its cradle. I guess she hung up. Mark noticed us all staring at him, and shrugged. She says that something came up, and she can't come to the bar with us tonight, he explained. She thinks she'll be home before us, though. He glanced over at Roger. She says to tell you she loves you, he told the guitarist softly.  
  
Roger smiled slowly. I know, he said. The issue of April was dropped. I didn't think much of it.  
  
That night, we got home at about one AM. Well, not Benny -- he had decided to spend the night with Alison, and we weren't about to argue with him. When we entered the loft, it was dark -- understandably. April was probably asleep already.  
  
Collins flipped on the lights, and Roger went to the sink to get himself a glass of water. Mark and I headed toward the back of the loft -- me to the bedroom, him to the bathroom.  
  
I saw the yellow post-it note on the closed bathroom door, but before I could read it, Mark pushed the door open and took one step in, flicking on the light. And froze.  
  
Roger started walking towards us. Hey, you gonna block the door all night, or can I get through? he calls, still a few yards away.  
  
Mark whirled to me, wild-eyed. Don't let Roger come here! Don't let him see her! Oh my God....  
  
Collins heard Mark and jogged over. Hey, what's going on? Mark? Maureen? Is everything --  
  
Don't let Roger come here! Mark repeats, crying out. Shit, shit, shit....  
  
Several things happen at once. Collins sees the post-it and snatches it off the door, glances at it, and jumps to the phone. I hear him demand, not quite panicking. Roger pushes his way into the bathroom and lets out a sharp cry. Mark tries to pull Roger back away, still babbling.  
  
And I peer into the bathroom, where April is lying in the empty bathtub. Fully clothed. Arms stained bright red.  
  
Dead.  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
END OF PART 2  
-----------------------------  
  
okay, that took me a while, but here tis. um....yeah, this definitely exists in the same pre-rent universe as april showers, but again, you don't need to have read that. please review! one more part left....


	3. ...So Full of Doubts

Always So Certain3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the last part, and not as long as the others. i promise.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
PART 3: ...SO FULL OF DOUBTS  
  
I never thought the loft would scare me, but it does. I can't go back in there. I can't. It's tainted, with April, with Roger, with AIDS.  
  
That's what her note said. That April and Roger had AIDS. I can't believe it. I don't understand how they could have gotten it. Is that what was turning them into ghosts? The HIV?  
  
But Collins is HIV positive, too. He still looks normal. I don't understand.  
  
I don't want to understand. And I don't want to go back to the loft. Ever.  
  
But I do. We all do. Where else can we go?  
  
I hear plans being made, in hushed whispers. I don't listen. I don't care. When I close my eyes, I can still see April, in that damn bathtub. Christ, it was so awful.  
  
Time passes.  
  
The day before her funeral. Mark and Collins, who are handling everything now, realized that none of us know anything about April's past before she came to New York. Not even Roger knew where she came from, or anything about her family. We don't even know how old she was. How did she live with us for eight months without ever telling us anything?  
  
The phone rings, and since I'm the only one with nothing to plan or think about, I pick it up.  
  
My voice sounds listless, tired.  
  
Hello? Um, I don't know what to -- I guess -- can I speak to, uh, a Mark Cohen? Is this the right number? I don't recognize the voice. It sounds youngish, and female. Hmmm. I glance over at Mark. He and Collins are filling out forms or something, from the funeral home. How the hell are we gonna afford this?  
  
Yeah, you've got the right number, I tell the unknown girl. But Mark's kinda busy right now. Can I take a message, or something? I'm his girlfriend.  
  
I don't know, she says. Maybe you can help me. I've got this really cryptic card, here, that tells me to only speak to this Mark Cohen. It's from my sister. April, April Weir. Do you know her? Do you know why she wanted me to call here?  
  
My jaw drops. This is interesting. April had a sister. April told her sister to call Mark. Very interesting.  
  
_What the hell do I tell this girl?!_  
  
Oh, shit, I say. That is not a good start, Maureen. Um, I'm sorry, I was surprised. April had a sister?  
  
the woman says, voice a little edgy. I'm her twin. My name is May. You know April? Where is she? We haven't heard from her since she ran off last June. Does she live with you? Who is Mark? Can you please tell me what's going on? I need to talk to her. Our parents have been worried sick.  
  
This is not good. Not good, not good. I think I know why April told this girl -- twin?! -- to talk to Mark. He knows what to say. I sure as hell don't.  
  
I'm sorry, I say, mindlessly. Yeah, April lived here. Until about four days ago. New York -- she came to New York City. Where was she from?  
  
comes the automatic response. She _lived_ there? Well, where is she now?  
  
I glance over at Mark and Collins, helplessly. They've noticed me by now. They're staring at me. I really, really don't like being on the phone with this woman. How do I break this to her?  
  
April died four days ago, I tell May softly. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Look, she told you to talk to Mark, you should talk to Mark. I'm babbling. Hastily, I pass the phone over to my boyfriend. He looks like he doesn't want it any more than I do. April's twin sister, May, I whisper to him. He swallows audibly, and takes the phone.  
  
I'm Mark Cohen, he says into the phone. You were her sister?  
  
I slump down into a chair, hiding my face in the hands, trying not to listen to the phone conversation. I can't believe I just talked to April's sister. I don't understand why this is happening. I want to go to sleep, and when I wake up everything will be back to normal.  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
Minutes tick by, agonizingly slow. Mark has gone into the bedroom, with the phone, so that we can't hear him. Good. Collins isn't filling out the form anymore, just fiddling nervously with his pencil. Roger is still at the hospital, being tested for HIV -- although we all know that he's positive. Benny is with Alison, somewhere. I don't blame him. He's lucky to have an escape like that. And I'm sitting here. Just sitting.  
  
Mark comes back to the living room, finally, and hangs up the phone. He looks about as weary as I feel. How do you tell someone that her sister was a druggie who slit her wrists? he asks the empty air. Collins shakes his head, sighing.  
  
Wait a sec. April was a druggie? I ask sharply. My voice sounds almost shrill.  
  
Mark nods, slowly. You didn't realize? She and Roger. Heroin.  
  
I want to disappear. I'm such a blind moron. All the signs. How could I have missed them? The looks. Roger's weird form of drunkenness.' The vague references to Greg -- their dealer, I realize. The way they were never around. They way they turned into shadows.  
  
The AIDS. So that's how they contracted it.  
  
I guess Roger was in the hospital' for more than tests. Rehab.  
  
Why didn't I see this coming?  
  
Time passes.  
  
April's family took over the arrangements, thank God. They could afford them. We couldn't.  
  
Everything is different, now, but it's gradually turning into a new, twisted form of normal.' Benny is gone. He and Alison got married, and he bought this building. He's changed. I don't recognize the Benny in him anymore -- it's all Benjamin Coffin the Third. Don't see him much. Collins left, too, took a job offer as professor at MIT. It was a good offer, he couldn't turn something like that down. Besides, who'd want to stay here? April's ghost lingers, filling the loft.  
  
Roger's back from rehab. He's still here -- sorta. Doesn't talk much, now. Doesn't do much of anything, actually. He never leaves the loft. If he had his way, he'd slowly shrivel and vanish. But Mark keeps him eating, at least. And taking the AZT.  
  
And I'm still here, for now. I'm trying to get my own apartment, but until I find one cheap enough, I'll stick around. I'm not in a hurry, not yet. Maybe I need to stay here, in a loft that's become a warehouse of uncomfortable memories. Penance.  
  
God, sometimes I feel like it's all my fault. All of it. If I hadn't brought April here, none of this would have happened. I was so stupid. So fucking ditzy. Had to find Roger a girlfriend. Had to make it April. Had to have her live with us. And then, once she was here, I thought it was over, that I could ignore them.  
  
I never saw any of this coming. But it all started with me. And once I started it, I was powerless to stop it. I wouldn't have thought to stop it. Why would I? How could I suspect it would go so wrong?  
  
I mentioned this to Mark, once. He didn't understand. He wasn't listening, really. Too worried about Roger to pay attention to my vague fears and guilt trips. I guess he partly blames himself, too. He saw it happening, and he didn't do anything to stop it.  
  
But I started it.  
  
It's funny. At first, right after April died, I thought that the tragedy would bring Mark and me back together. You know, like in all the movies. And maybe it did, for a week or so. But now we're drifting apart even faster. Not even arguing so much, anymore. Just drifting. I know he still loves me. I can see it in his eyes, when he's taking a break from agonizing over his best friend. The heat is still there, the passion, even the jealousy.  
  
But I feel almost nothing. Part of me is still possessive of my Pookie, still greedy, still wanting. The rest has stopped caring. I don't know what I feel. I don't know anything anymore.  
  
I'm questioning a lot of things, these days. For one thing, my chosen occupation -- acting. Not that I get many parts, but every now and then I get a gig off-off-Broadway, or something. It's what I came to the city for, a few years ago. But now, I don't know. It seems kinda frivolous. After April, I want to do something meaningful. I'm thinking about staging protests, or rallies, or something like that. Raise money for a good cause, I guess. I don't know exactly how to go about it. At least Mark is more responsive when I talk about that -- he says he'll be my production manager. Right.  
  
I'm also kinda questioning my sexuality. I know, that probably sounds weird. Maureen, who throws herself at any man? Flamboyant, sexy Maureen? I don't know. Maybe I'm bi. I just know that I'm looking for someone, somewhere, and I don't think it's Mark, and it might be another woman. I'm not sure.  
  
I'm not sure about anything.  
  
So, that's me. I can't renounce the way I've lived my life, and I'll never be able to change who I am. But at least I think now, sometimes. I still try to act the same, on the outside. Like I know what I'm doing. Like I'm always so certain that whatever choices I make are the absolute, only possible decisions.  
  
But inside, I'm so full of doubts, I want to cry. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm gonna have to leave the loft for good, sooner or later. Everything else -- I don't know. We'll see.  
  
April, I'm sorry.  
  
And time passes.  
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that's it, that's all, I'm done with this story, period. i just had to finish it quickly before school started. who knows if i'll have any time to write now? anyway, thanks for sticking with me. kindly review in the cut little box provided...it's muchly appreciated.


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